E5:- Rachita Somani

Rachita Somani had been at WeDonate for three years. She had seen many

new joinees struggle and eventually bow out of the medical team within the

first week. It was too overwhelming for most. She had almost given up too,

when she first joined. But Sarita Sharan had stood behind her, groomed her

and made her into what she was today. Rachita’s mother would ask her to

change her job every day.

‘You could have been an actress, look what you have done to your skin,’

her mother rued every day.

But Rachita couldn’t bear to think of doing anything different. Given her

theatre background, there were times she had wanted to laterally shift to the

entertainment vertical, but she would eventually dismiss the thought.

The way Anusha Sardana walked around in the office with an angry, hurt

face, Rachita had thought Anusha would be one of the first-week casualties

too. Rachita observed that Anusha would keep to herself most of the day. She

would be gruff and to the point. It seemed like she was making an active

effort to not make friends. There were others in the office who had pointed

Anusha’s behaviour out to Rachita.

‘It’s not good for the team’s morale,’ the team members would say.

Rachita was wrong about her analysis of Anusha not lasting very long at

WeDonate; she was, in fact, thriving.

Despite not wanting to be in the team, Anusha had been editing medical

stories at a breakneck speed. Rachita also noticed that Anusha altered narratives in the stories she edited, making them more effective than earlier.

Rachita would tell everyone that Anusha was doing well at her work and

that’s all that should matter.

She would find herself telling others about Anusha, ‘Her anger is not

specifically directed at you, she’s angry at everyone.’

‘She’s a good writer. Maybe she’s right in wanting to be in entertainment.

Have you given it a thought?’ asked Rachita to Sarita that day.

‘Test her with the unsuccessful campaigns,’ Sarita answered without

elaborating further.

When Rachita told Anusha she would be sending her two campaigns that

had failed for them, Anusha rolled her eyes and had said, ‘Fine.’

The first one was of a rickshaw puller and his wife trying to save their

twelve-year-old daughter from cancer. Despite pictures of the crying child,

the grieving parents and a heart-wrenching story, it didn’t get them the

money. The second was of a twenty-three-year-old boy, Gautam, who needed

to undergo an urgent brain surgery. Both these campaigns were falling short

of over 20+ lakh.

‘Do you need help?’ Rachita asked her in the evening when she saw her

hunched up over the laptop.

Anusha took off her headphones. She said pointing to the screen, ‘I’m

going to delete the portion where it says this twelve-year-old girl fighting

cancer has a younger brother.’

‘But he’s crying in the picture. It moves people,’ suggested Rachita.

‘When I see the boy, I don’t care if the girl dies or not. First, there’s

another child in the family. Who cares if one dies? They have a spare. We

need to hide the brother. He’s killing the sister. And second, it’s a girl so

funerals are cheaper than marriages. So maybe people are thinking that this is

a good thing?’

‘These are real people, real lives you are talking about,’ said Rachita

testing her further.

‘We are selling stories, Rachita. If we get the money, who the **** cares?’

said Anusha. ‘When the donors donate, they need to feel like they are really

helping someone out. A single child dying makes for a better story.’

‘What about the girl’s family?’ asked Rachita.

‘They don’t matter. We are also catering to the needs of the rich among our

donors, are we not? By telling heart-wrenching stories and making people

feel good about themselves when they donate,’ said Anusha disdainfully.

‘Do what you feel best,’ said Rachita.

Rachita turned away from her and smiled softly. She was glad to know

Anusha Sardana had no illusions about how the world worked. Rachita had

come to WeDonate with idealistic notions about people’s niceness, about

their philanthropic tendencies. Now she knew that people who donated

money to medical campaigns did it for another dopamine hit. It’s a

commodity they buy for themselves—to feel better, superior.

Rachita was looking forward to seeing what Anusha would do with the

stories. No one should have to die just because they were poor.

After a while, when Rachita looked over, she found Anusha zooming into

a guy’s picture. It was the second case. When Anusha saw her, she said, ‘This

Gautam guy is cute. Too bad he’s dying.’

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